


that word

by tiptoe39



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I Love You, M/M, Saying I Love You
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: Bitty wouldn’t know love if it leapt up and bit him. Love, from everything he’s heard and read, is a big deal. A feeling bigger and deeper than the ocean, something solid and experience-built and battle-hardened. The foundation to a life together. And Bitty’s never even dated before. He doesn’t know what love is. 
Prompt from childoffantasy. Reposted from Tumblr.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [childoffantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/childoffantasy/gifts).



The first time Jack nearly drops the word, Bitty freaks out.

To be fair, it comes out of left field. Jack’s about to hang up, and he says “Bye, Bits, I lo–”

Bitty hurriedly breaks in – “Yeah, yeah, Jack, I really gotta go, goodnight” – and hangs up right quick. Afterward, he sits there staring at his tablet screen, hands on his heart, breathing like he’s just run around the block. Did Jack really almost–  but how can he? It’s barely been a month.  It doesn’t work that way, That word isn’t appropriate yet.

Maybe he imagined it. Maybe Jack was just going to say “loved talking to you tonight” or something equally un-Jack-like. But let’s face it. This is Jack Zimmermann. He doesn’t exactly do subtlety. He’s not the type to mince words, or to think about nuances and implications before coming out with something he really wants to say.

If Jack thinks he loves Bitty, Jack’s going to say it, and it’s going to take all of Bitty’s quick thinking to stop him.

Because Bitty wouldn’t know love if it leapt up and bit him. Love, from everything he’s heard and read, is a big deal. A feeling bigger and deeper than the ocean, something solid and experience-built and battle-hardened. The foundation to a life together. And Bitty’s never even dated before. He doesn’t know what love is. Even if the potential for it is here, he can’t possibly feel it yet. All the heart-clenching yearning and giddy happiness he feels when he Skypes with Jack, all of that is … a big crush, or infatuation, or … extreme “like” … or something. It can’t be love. Not yet.

But when he lies down at night and thinks of Jack, the ecstatic pounding of his heart and the sense of rightness is like no crush he’s ever had in his life.

* * *

Jack comes down to Madison. They stand a polite distance apart and smile at each other in front of family. When they’re alone, there’s not an inch of daylight between them.

In the back of the truck, under a ceiling of fireworks, they make out despite the muggy weather. Long, sweet kisses deepen into frantic exploration. Hands wander over sweat-damp skin. Bitty thrills to every shudder Jack gives, every new inch of Jack’s skin that tastes sweet and warm beneath his mouth. As he sucks on Jack’s neck, flicking his tongue across Jack’s pulse point, Jack runs fingers through Bitty’s hair and whispers crazy maddening things. Things like “Oh, God” and “don’t stop” and “you feel so damn good” and “God, Bits, I love–”

Bitty surges up and covers Jack’s mouth with his. Tastes and sucks and bites, until he’s sure Jack can’t speak at all.

Afterward, when they lie together, Bitty’s very careful to say just as much as he’s comfortable hearing. “I’m going to miss you so much,” he says. “I’m just crazy about you, Jack Zimmermann. Just … just crazy.”

Jack doesn’t step past that line. Bitty breathes relief when they finally part for the night. He aches to be back in Jack’s arms, wishes they could fall asleep together, but at least if he’s alone he doesn’t have to be on his guard. He can’t let that word be wasted in the heat of passion. It’s a serious word, meant for a serious moment, when the whole future lies before them as certain as sunrise. And Bitty’s still so far from certain.

* * *

For the week after Jack goes home, it’s “I miss you.”

In mid-July, it’s “I’m thinking of you.”

As August approaches, “I’ll see you soon” does the trick.

They’re as far as Bitty’s willing to go. He swallows that other word when it rises, unbidden, like a lump in his throat. He has other words, and they’ll do just fine.

* * *

Providence swiftly becomes Bitty’s favorite place on earth.

There are historic streets and gleaming skyscrapers. There’s a river that winds through the city. It’s like Boston, but smaller, more intimate and more compact, with fewer tourists. And it boasts an apartment that Bitty could spend 24 hours a day in, between the gorgeous kitchen and the living room with its fabulous view and a very big bed that sees an awful lot of use.

Oh, so much use.

Bitty loses his virginity with gusto. He and Jack spend hours on that bed, doing everything from simple cuddling to languid touching to fevered bouts of lovemaking that rattle the pictures on the walls. Sometimes, afterward, Bitty just breathes in. He smells Jack in the sheets and in the air and next to him, and wants to die from happiness. He could drown in this bed, and he’d embrace it with open arms. Everything he ever wanted is here, love and sex and laughter and joy. If the bed only had a built-in oven, he’d never leave it.

It’s early on the morning he has to leave, and Bitty wakes up before Jack does. He sits up in bed, looks down at Jack dozing. Jack’s eyelashes are black fringes against his pale cheek, and his lips are pursed, as though in a dream-kiss. As Bitty watches, he takes in a thin breath, then lets it go, the air hissing as it passes through his nostrils. Just the act of breathing, and it loosens some valve inside Bitty that brings tears springing to his eyes.

 _I love you,_ Bitty thinks.

He passes a hand over Jack’s forehead, pushing hair out of his face. Jack stirs, but doesn’t awaken.

_I love you._

Oh, no, Oh, _no_.

No, this can’t happen, this isn’t supposed to happen. It’s still only been a few months. They’ve spent fewer than ten days in the same room since that first kiss at graduation. Granted, they’ve talked every night they’ve been apart, but … but it’s still just infatuation, right? Still just two crazy kids who’ve realized they liked each other and are taking every moment they can to explore it. Love is deeper. Truer. It’s forged in fire and solid as stone. Someone so young and inexperienced as Bitty can’t possibly comprehend what it means, much less feel it for himself.

It’s just…

(and Jack lies there, looking beautiful and perfect, inviting kisses without knowing it, and Bitty’s heart is about to split from exquisite pain just watching him…)

It’s just that if there really is a feeling still deeper and truer than this, Bitty can’t conceive of it.

* * *

In August, they’re on the phone, discussing the location of the Haus’s basement key, and Bitty thinks he hears Jack start to say something as he’s hanging up. But then there’s a shout from somewhere in Jack’s vicinity and the line goes dead.

Bitty’s kind of disappointed.

* * *

Jack’s coaching Bitty on his French, as much as Jack can considering a) he’s Quebecois and b) Bitty’s a horrible study. But Bitty appreciates the effort on Jack’s part, especially when it’s painfully obvious that Bitty’s mangling the language.

“Coeur,” Jack says for the fifteenth time.

“Cugggh,” Bitty repeats.

Jack stifles a chuckle.

“No?” Bitty tries again. “Cewwww. Cooo? Cahhh?”

“Oh, God, just stop,” Jack begs, shaking his head. “Bits, for God’s sake, just stop. You know I love y–”

And Jack stops. Before Bitty’s heart even has time to leap into his throat, Jack’s the one who stops.

Bitty doesn’t know what to do. He wants to know what Jack was about to say, but if he asks, is that like saying it himself? And what if that _was_ what Jack was about to say? Is he ready to say it back?

His hesitation lingers just a little too long. Jack clears his throat.

“Sorry. I was going to say, I love that you’re trying so hard, but please, _don’t_ try so hard.”

“Oh. Okay. Sorry.” Bitty forces himself to laugh a little. Otherwise, he knows, the misery in his heart is going to show on his face.

Oh, Lord, he has no right to be miserable, does he? Jack might have said it months ago if it hadn’t been for him. He stopped Jack at every turn. He _taught_ Jack it wasn’t okay to say.

But that was before Bitty could admit he felt it. And, tucking himself into bed that night, he feels it so hard he thinks he might drown in it.

* * *

Hockey happens. And school. And a few meetings and plenty of Skypes, but the word never comes up. It never even comes close.

Maybe Jack’s changed his mind. Maybe he realized, too, that it’s not a word you can say lightly. Or maybe the bloom has fallen off the rose, as his Mama likes to say. Bitty might not be that brand-new, exciting thing that he was back in May, or July, or even August. They’re well into November now, and Jack’s still amazing, still alluring and attentive and a perfect gentleman. But Bitty’s still just Bitty, and even if Jack _thought_ he loved him before, maybe he’s thought better of it since.

Bitty clutches his bunny and his pillow late at night and imagines what Jack would say if Bitty asked. _Oh, well,_ he hears in Jack’s voice. _I imagined I might be in love with you, in the beginning. But I don’t think it’s true now. I like you lots, Bits. You mean a lot to me. But love? That’s kind of a big deal. I don’t think I can say it._

Tears stain Bitty’s pillow. “Maybe you can’t,” he whispers fiercely into the darkness, “but I can. I love you, Jack. I love you.”

* * *

Jack’s living room glitters with reflected tinsel and Christmas lights, and outside the window snow is falling, silent and lovely. Bitty stands in the middle of the room and soaks up the atmosphere. They’ve put this room together, piece by painstaking piece. From hauling in the firewood to hanging the stockings, each touch has been their joint labor of love. And love is the word to describe every corner of this room, right down to the soft jazzy music that starts up when Jack presses a button on his remote.

It’s also the word singing in Bitty’s heart with every moment he looks at Jack. How one word can hurt so much and still be the source of so much joy, Bitty may never know.

They drink champagne and then cocoa together, snacking on cookies Bitty has carefully shaped into little gingerbread hockey players. They laughed when decorating them, deciding which was gingerbread Tater and which of the goalies was gingerbread Chowder, before photographing them for posterity and carrying them into this room to eat. Only the gingerbread Jack Zimmermann is off limits – not because he’s so sacred but because, as Bitty says, who needs gingerbread when you have the real thing?

Jack gets to his feet as the lady on the radio urges them to have themselves a merry little Christmas. He extends a hand. “Dance?”

“Always.” Bitty eases off the couch and trips over the rug as he closes the distance between them. Jack catches him with a soft “oof” and a smile, and Bitty looks up at him with a guilty grin. Jack slides an arm around Bitty’s waist, taking his other hand, and they dip and sway in a soft arc around the carpet.

Bitty presses his cheek against Jack’s shirt, gazing with fond eyes at the ghostly doubles of himself and Jack in the window’s reflection. The glass is doing that strange thing it usually does at night, where it’s both window and mirror. Reflected Jack and Bitty are holding each other tight, surrounded by a field of falling snow. It’s as if they’re dancing in midair.

Bitty catches his breath as he watches their doubles turn round and round. No matter how he looks at them, those people in the windowpane look like a couple in love. Matching smiles, soft eyes, arms folded around each other. Bitty watches them, and they watch him back. The Bitty in the window seems to nod at him. Seems to mouth, silently, _I know._

Jack starts at the feel of Bitty going still in his arms. “Bits?” he murmurs.

Bitty turns his gaze to the floor. “Jack,” he says quietly, “I want to tell you something.”

“Okay.” Bitty’s silent for another moment, and Jack takes a half-step back, covering Bitty’s hands with his. He must be able to feel them shaking. “Should we sit down?”

Bitty shakes his head. Oh, God, here come the tears. He’s not ready for them. He swallows hard, forces them back.

“Bits.” There’s real concern, almost fear, in Jack’s voice now. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know, but–” Bitty’s mumbling, staring at Jack’s hands. So big, so trustworthy around his own. He’d put his life in those hands without a moment’s thought. But it’s so much scarier to put his heart there.

“Come on.” Jack cajoles, because he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been in the position of having to drag words from Bitty’s mouth. “There’s nothing you could say that would scare me off.”

“This might.” Bitty doesn’t know until he says it, but that’s what he’s really afraid of. Not letting the words come to his mouth – they already have, in silent dark nights – but the possibility that Jack might turn tail and run. Bitty doesn’t think he could take it. He feels so close to falling apart already. What happens if the floor topples from underneath him?

“Bitty, I’m worried now.” Jack lifts a hand and runs it through Bitty’s hair. “Talk to me. What is it?”

The touch is too tender. Bitty leans into it. “Jack, it’s just– I mean–” He won’t cry. He’s not going to cry. He blinks hard, and when his eyes open again, they meet Jack’s.

His eyes meet Jack’s, and he’s lost.

“I love you,” he says.

Silence. The universe pauses to catch its breath.

“I love you,” Bitty says again, and then he’s talking, talking and being folded up in an embrace with kisses pressed to the top of his head and arms tight around him, but they can’t lock him in, nothing can keep these words inside him any longer. “I love you and I tried so hard not to say it because I don’t know what love is, I didn’t know. It’s a fairy tale, isn’t it? Love? And I’m just me, and one of these days you were gonna look at me and see that, and then I’d be left alone. So I couldn’t, I couldn’t love you, because once I did– but Jack, I _do._ I love you and I’m sorry, I can’t not say it anymore. I just _do_.”

There go all his words, there goes all his strength. Bitty presses forward, burrowing into Jack’s arms as though he could bury himself so deep that he’d never have to face what he’s just said. Jack’s arms are so warm and so comforting that Bitty thinks maybe he can just hide here forever. And Jack’s lips are warm on the crown of his head, lips that are kissing and hushing and whispering by turns. “…Ssh, Bits. Bits, it’s okay. It’s all okay. I love you, too. I love you, too…”

Bitty’s eyes fly open. Tears leak from their corners and sit, heavy, on his cheekbones.

“What?” he whispers, still unwilling to come out of his hiding place.

Jack just kisses his head again and whispers, “Shh.”

Now he _has_ to come out. Bitty fights his way back, stepping out of Jack’s embrace. He looks up to search Jack’s face. Jack’s sweet, kind, smiling face with the softest eyes Bitty’s ever seen, and Bitty almost gets lost there again. But he has to know. “Jack, did– did you just–”

Jack leans down and kisses his mouth. Then he presses his lips to Bitty’s cheek, trapping one fat teardrop. The other streaks down Bitty’s cheek.

“I love you, too,” Jack says.

This time, Bitty hears it for sure. And he sees it, in the glow of Jack’s expression. Still, he has to ask one more time. “Really?”

“Really.” Jack’s smile is as bright as Bitty’s ever seen it. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

Bitty follows, in a daze, as Jack leads him back to the sofa. They sit with their backs to the windows, and Jack takes one of Bitty’s hands and strokes it gently. “Are you okay?”

“I’m– I don’t know. You– you just said you–”

“Yeah.”

“And you do?”

“Yeah.” Jack shakes his head and gives a little chuckle. “I thought– I thought you didn’t want me to say it. I mean, you made it pretty clear.”

“I did? Oh, Lord, I did, didn’t I?” Bitty rolls his eyes. “I was terrible about that, come to think of it. It’s just, I didn’t know. It’s such a big deal, that word, and I was scared you’d say it too soon, but you wouldn’t mean it. I didn’t want you to say it and not mean it. I didn’t want _me_ to say it and not mean it–”

“It’s a scary word.” Jack nods. “I think so, too. But I knew. A long time ago. Maybe I should have said something anyway–”

“Yes, yes, you should have said something anyway!” Bitty swats him playfully. The grin in his heart finally springs to his face. “Or, I don’t know, maybe you shouldn’t have, but– Jack, I thought you changed your _mind_ –”

“No.” Jack kisses his fingers. “I didn’t. And I won’t.”

“Then say it one more time.”

Jack looks at him reproachfully.

“Just once! Or. You know. Once _now._ Maybe more times later.”

Dissolving into a grin, Jack shakes his head. But a moment later, he’s pulling Bitty close, kissing him tenderly, carefully. He makes sure to look Bitty in the eye, and thumbs away an errant tear on Bitty’s cheek before parting his lips to speak. “I love you, Bits.”

“I love you too, Jack,” Bitty blurts out, almost before Jack can finish.

They grin at each other, kiss, then curl up on the couch together, Bitty tucked into Jack’s shoulder as they lie quietly and listen to the music waft through the air. And if Bitty fits his mouth around those words a few – or a few dozen – more times that night, well, he has to get used to them. Luckily enough, Jack doesn’t seem averse to a few more repetitions, either.

The important thing is that they’re true.


End file.
